


Broken

by moonstone1520



Series: One Little Word [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9372479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstone1520/pseuds/moonstone1520
Summary: Molly and Sherlock deal with the fallout of that phone call.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't know where I stand on his second "I love you" in TFP. This is partly my way of processing it. Also partly because I'm having a very emotional day and need to get it out. But also, this was inspired by BC saying that Sherlock hasn't decided if he's in love with Molly. And honestly, I really, really like that.

“Say it anyway.”

He was a bastard. A prick. A right utter cock.

You don’t say _those words_ just to say them.

Molly Hooper doesn’t say those three little words. _Especially_ not to the object of her affection.

Because she knows he’ll never say them back and mean it.

So she takes back control.

“You say it. Go on. You say it first.”

“What?” She heard the irritation in his voice. And it fueled her anger at him. For doing this to her. For taking her feelings for him and turning them into a joke.

For making her vulnerable.

“Say it,” she bit out. Her tone softened. “Say it like you mean it.”

If he was going to make her say it, she wanted to hear him say it. Just once.

Like he meant it.

She waited. And heard him inhale.

“I…”

She clasped the phone to her ear, pressing tightly, holding the device so tightly it hurt. _Oh, God._

“I love you.”

She exhaled shakily, her heart pounding. He didn’t mean it, but she had still taken back control.

Until he said it again.

“I love you,” he breathed.

And her heart stopped.

Because he meant it this time.

“Molly?”

She looked at her phone, not quite sure, second guessing herself, doubting he meant it. Scared that this was still a joke to him, that her feelings were all a joke. He was a phenomenal actor—John had said on occasion that the stage had lost one of its finest to detective work.

 “Molly, please,” she heard him beg. She heard his voice crack on the other end.

He was terrified. So was she.

But saying it back just might break her.

She pulled the phone closer to her mouth, holding on to the last fringes of her emotions.

“I love you,” she whispered.

With her heart pounding, with trepidation, she waited, unsure what she was waiting for.

She heard him exhale heavily on the other side.

“Sherlock?” she whispered.

Then the subtle click of the line being disconnected.

Her heart shattered.

She felt the tears coming—the tears she had never once shed over this man in the near decade she had known and been in love with him. The tears she had never allowed herself to shed because she didn’t want to burden him with her feelings.

This time, she allowed them to fall.

She picked up her phone and threw it against the wall with a gut-wrenching scream. The sound of it shattering was the catalyst to the body wracking sobs that engulfed her entire being. She turned her back to the counter and slid down to the floor, curling in on herself as she finally allowed herself to mourn for the things that would never be. For the emotional torture she just endured at the hands of the man she had selflessly given everything to time and time again.

For letting herself, just for a second, believe he actually did mean it.

***†***

It was long dark when she heard the lock jangle.

She didn’t get up, couldn’t move. She had sobbed everything out of her hours ago.

Let him come to her. It’s the least he could do.

She didn’t look at him when he crouched down next to her.

“Molly?”

“Go away, Sherlock,” she said, her voice flat. Horse.

Dead.

“Molly, please, I’m so, so sorry,” he started, a note of desperation behind his words. He crawled in front of her so she was forced to look at him. She chose, instead, to stare beyond him, like he wasn’t even there.

Like he didn’t exist.

“I had to. She said your flat was rigged to detonate, that unless you said—”

“Did you mean it?” she asked. She was empty, hollow, broken. “What?” he whispered.

“Did. You. Mean. It.”

She refocused and watched him swallow, his eyes wild in the moonlight. The seconds ticked by.

And he didn’t answer.

She pushed him away and stood. He reached wildly for her wrist but she yanked it out of his grasp. She looked at him with disgust.

“You know your way out,” she snarled.

“Molly, please.”

She walked away.

“Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Molly, I did mean it!” she heard him shout after her.

She hated herself for stopping in her tracks. For the way her heart leapt with hope. For the tiny shocked inhale.

She felt his presence behind her, but she didn’t turn around.

She knew it would be easier this way.

“I did mean it. I’m so sorry I put you through that. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice caught on the words, and her heart hitched at the sound.

“I do… care about you very deeply, Molly,” he whispered.

She held her breath.

“I just… don’t know exactly how, yet,” he finished.

Molly closed her eyes and bowed her head, gritting her teeth against the sobs she felt coming again.

“Molly,” he pleaded, reaching out to her. She shook him off violently, wrapping her arms around herself instead of letting him comfort her.

“Molly, these emotions… this sentiment, it’s new and it’s overwhelming and it’s powerful and I don’t know _how_ exactly I love you, but please believe me when I say I do. I do _love_ you, Molly Hooper. I’m just not sure if it’s the way… you feel about me.”

She forced her body to still, but she didn’t turn around, nor did she stop the cascade of tears that ran down her cheeks. She felt his hand gently grasp her arm and turn her towards him. She kept her head bowed, silently begging for this last shred of pride.

“Molly,” he murmured, “look at me. Please.”

It occurred to her that she’s never heard Sherlock Holmes say “please” this many times ever.

He must be serious.

His fingertips touched her chin and gently raised her head so she was looking at him. She met his eyes, noted the tear tracks, and was struck by how raw he was. He had been exposed to the nerve, as had she. But his eyes told her all she needed to know.

He did mean the words. Maybe not the way she wanted him to, but he did mean it.

He loved her.

“Molly, are we broken?” he asked, his mouth twisting with emotion. He reached up to brush away her tears, and she leaned into his touch. She hadn’t forgiven him yet. But she knew, in time, she would.

“Yes,” she whispered, her breath hitching on the word.

He inhaled sharply, the tears falling.

“Can we be fixed?” he sobbed.

She nodded. “Yes,” she replied, her voice cracking as she began to cry again in earnest. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, her frame shaking with the force of her sobs, his chest hitching with the strength of his.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Molly.”

She held onto him like a life raft in the middle of the ocean.

They were broken.

But they could still be fixed.


End file.
